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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117373">Fantastic Beasts and How to Befriend Them</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/myung/pseuds/myung'>myung</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fantasy, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mythical Beings &amp; Creatures, Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:02:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,869</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/myung/pseuds/myung</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I didn’t think you could kill a drowner by yourself.”</p><p>“That’s all you have to say?” Jaskier huffs.</p><p>The corner of Yennefer’s lips tilt up in a hint of a smile. “What do you want me to say, then? That I’m proud of you?”</p><p>“Well.” Jaskier tosses his hair back. “Validation is appreciated. It was really difficult, I’ll have you know. Damned things are slimy as all hell. I smelled like bog water for a week.”</p><p>—</p><p>After Geralt's outburst on the mountain, Jaskier travels on his own. He meets and rescues magical creatures, somehow gets Yennefer to like him, and wrestles with his feelings for Geralt along the way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>766</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fantastic Beasts and How to Befriend Them</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take </em> you <em> off my hands. </em></p><p>Jaskier groans and lets his forehead fall onto the counter with a dull thunk.</p><p>“Rough night?” the young barman asks, sympathetic, as he tops off Jaskier’s ale without demanding more coin. </p><p>“Thank you,” Jaskier says, sluggishly bringing the tankard up to his lips. The ale is only one step above warm cat piss, but he won’t refuse kindness, and he wants nothing more than to drown himself in spirits tonight. He feels like he deserves it; after all, his closest friend of the past two decades told him in no uncertain terms that his company is enthusiastically unwanted.</p><p><em> Closest friend</em>. Who is he trying to fool? Geralt is his <em> only </em> friend, and quite possibly the love of his life. For twenty years, Jaskier faithfully followed the Witcher, singing his praises, cracking jokes, and sometimes managing to save his life (mostly by distracting whatever monster Geralt was unfortunate enough to be stuck under and thereby risking his own life, but hey, it counts). Somewhere along the way, Jaskier’s heart was thoroughly captured by the stoic man. He knows, of course, that Geralt will never return his affections, but he thought that Geralt at least liked him a <em> little </em> bit. He thought that they were at least <em> friends</em>.</p><p>
  <em> If life could give me one blessing— </em>
</p><p>“Fuck me,” Jaskier moans, and his forehead is reacquainted with the counter.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He decides to head for the coast. It’s only been a few days, but it feels like ages ago when he told Geralt that they could get away for a while. He meant it then, and he means it even more now. Except now he’s trying to get away from Geralt, and the pain, and the humiliation, and he resolves to vacate his position as the twenty-year-old thorn in the Witcher’s side. </p><p>Jaskier already knows what— or <em> who </em>— pleases him. But he still has a lot of life to live, and he can surely find something else to fill the hole in his heart. </p><p>He has to. He must.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“A storm breaking on the horizon, of longing and heartache and lust. She’s always—” Jaskier’s middle finger snags on a string. “—<em> fucking </em> bad news.”</p><p>He sighs and squints up into the sky. The sun is low and faintly burning, about to set, and there’s still no town in sight. He’ll have to set up camp in the middle of the forest.</p><p>Jaskier somehow manages to build a fire (he’s still surprised that he can do it, but perhaps years of constantly observing Geralt has its usefulness, after all) and pushes the least damp log he can find towards the warmth. He means to spread his bedroll and sleep after eating the last of his pitiful rations, assuming that he has another long day of travel ahead of him. Instead, Jaskier cradles his lute and notebook close and plays and writes for what feels like hours. </p><p>He pauses to take a quick swig from his waterskin and goes right back to his lute, ignoring the ache in his fingers and the strain in his throat. There’s really no reason for him to sing deep into the night, but the heartache is doing wonders for his creativity. If his pitiful yearning will earn him some coin at the next tavern, then he’ll stay up writing as late as he has to.</p><p>“But the story is this: she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss,” Jaskier mumbles to himself, and scratches the line into his notebook before plucking his lute and humming a melody. “Oh, this could work.”</p><p>“Y-yes, that sounds w-wonderful.”</p><p>“Gah!” Jaskier whirls around, accidentally flinging his lute to the ground in the process. He meets the gaze of a wide-eyed elf as a discordant crash and the sound of splintering wood rings through the air.</p><p>The elf winces, and the tips of his pointed ears turn bright red. “Sorry?”</p><p>Jaskier stares forlornly down at the pieces of his lute. “That’s my livelihood, you know, and now it’s broken on a rotting forest floor.”</p><p>“I didn’t m-mean to startle you,” the elf says, a tad too petulantly for someone who just destroyed Jaskier’s only means of earning coin, but he does look remorseful. Jaskier’s mad, of course, but he’s not in the mood to yell. It feels like his own ears are still stinging from the blame Geralt hurled at him just a few days ago.</p><p>“Y-you sounded lovely,” the elf continues, the red flush now spreading across his cheeks. “I couldn’t h-help but listen. I r-really am sorry! I’ll g-get you a new l-lute! Elven instruments are p-prettier and l-last longer, I p-promise. J-just wait here.”</p><p>He glances at Jaskier before darting between shadowy trees and melting into the darkness. Jaskier shrugs and starts laying out his bedroll. He’s heard warnings about putting one’s trust in magical creatures, but he’s pretty sure that the warnings only apply to faeries, who are all supposedly massive dicks. Anyway, there’s nothing to be done about his lute. Either the elf delivers on his promise or Jaskier finagles his way into getting a new one at the next town. He’ll figure it out like he always does.</p><p>Jaskier wakes hours later to the sound of approaching footsteps. The fire is still miraculously burning, so he thankfully doesn’t feel the chill when he gets up. The elf from the night before waits in front of a tree, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, and offers Jaskier a hesitant smile when he notices that the bard is awake. He holds out a gorgeous lute made of rich, dark wood with a delicate golden design swirling down the neck. </p><p>“F-for you,” he says softly. </p><p>The bard strums an experimental chord. The sound is somehow both bright and mellow, resonant, like laughter. </p><p>“You’re right,” Jaskier muses. “Elven instruments <em> are </em> prettier.”</p><p>The elf puffs up his chest a bit in pride, and Jaskier smiles at the sight. He can’t be a day over a hundred, used to wandering around the forest by himself and too young to know how destructive and deceitful most humans can be.</p><p>“What’s your name?”</p><p>“Aodhan,” the elf quickly replies. “And I kn-know you, of course. Y-you’re the Witcher’s b-bard.”</p><p>Jaskier’s fingers pause over the clasps of his lute case. “Ah,” he says. “Well. I’m not. I’m Jaskier, the… just the bard.”</p><p>Aodhan tilts his head, obviously curious, but says nothing.</p><p>“Thank you, Aodhan,” Jaskier says, lifting his lute case. “Really. This is lovely, and I very much appreciate you keeping your word.”</p><p>“Y-yes, of course,” the elf replies. “C-can I ask f-for one favor?”</p><p>“And that is…?” Jaskier trails off, uneasiness stirring in his gut.</p><p>“Could you p-please write a s-song about m-me?” Aodhan asks, eyes gleaming.</p><p>Jaskier grins and slings the case and his measly pack over his shoulders. “It’s only fair. I’ll write you a tune that’ll have every tavern singing your name, and that’s a promise, my friend.”</p><p>“Wow,” Aodhan breathes. “Th-thank you.”</p><p>Jaskier waves his goodbye and starts to make his way towards the path when the elf calls out, “Y-you should finish it! The s-song you were w-working on last night. It w-was beautiful. H-her sweet kiss…”</p><p>There is a painful throb in his chest, but Jaskier nods, and watches the elf slip back into the trees. The forest is still and silent again. The only evidence that anyone was there at all is the broken lute smoldering on the charred remnants of a fire.</p><p>When Jaskier reaches the next town, he leads the whole tavern in a lively song about a fair young elf who is a friend to all men and a lover of merriment. If he exaggerates a bit, well. No one has to know.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He wins a handsome knife with its own leather sheath from a drinking game. He sticks it in his boot and mostly forgets about it until he stumbles upon a harpy gorging herself on a screaming nest of sprites. Without thinking, Jaskier whips the knife out and slashes mercilessly through the back of the harpy’s shriveled neck. Her head pitches forward, hinging on what little flesh remains.</p><p>His hands shake as he sheathes his knife. He feels as though he’s about to be sick, but he swallows hard and goes through the motions of building a fire. <em> Harpies are susceptible to Igni</em>, he remembers Geralt saying, and manages to toss the hag’s limp body onto the flames before turning and vomiting on a patch of grass.</p><p>He helps the sprites bury their dead. He sits with them for hours as they teach him about plants: herbs to crush up and use in healing salves, berries to scavenge when food is scarce, flowers to brew into a drink to take a man's life. </p><p>The sprites tell Jaskier that his help will never be forgotten, and promises that every forest will be kind to him. He thanks them and goes on his way, bewildered. When he sets up camp later that night, he finds an abundance of dry twigs and brush to start his fire, and the trees above him knit their branches and leaves together to shield him from the rain.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He saves a leprechaun from being gored to death by a malevolent unicorn. When the beast gives up and trots off, they climb down from the tree. The leprechaun shoots Jaskier a wink and tells him that he’ll find luck when he least expects it before disappearing in a spray of gold light.</p><p>At a nearby inn, Jaskier gets a room with a cushy bed and a hot bath for barely any coin. Feeling somewhat foolish, he says his thanks aloud before stepping into the tub. He thinks he hears the echoes of a jolly laugh as he submerges himself in the hot water.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>While making his way up a small mountain, Jaskier comes across a druid lying on the path, blood oozing from a nasty gash on her leg. He gathers her up in his arms when she begs him to bring her home. With her instructions, he stumbles over stubborn rocks and through dense wood (the trees part for him) until he reaches her secluded village. </p><p>He ends up staying with the druids, learning how to stitch wounds, treat burns, and purge poisons. In return, he plays for them at night, teaching them how to laugh and have fun. When the moon is high, the usually quiet village fills with laughter and cheers. </p><p>The wounded druid— Aurelie— watches silently at the beginning, but soon loses her timidness and requests lute lessons. His hands brush over hers as he guides her fingers in the correct positions, and he teases her for blushing. </p><p>Her cheeks stay flushed as they make love, no matter how many times they fall into bed. In the mornings, Jaskier always wakes up before her, and traces the delicate lines of her face with his fingers. Every day, she opens her eyes with a smile.</p><p>Aurelie loves him. He tries to love her. But there’s a knot in his chest, decades-old and hopelessly tangled, and he knows it isn’t fair to anyone for him to stay.</p><p>“You’re going,” Aurelie murmurs against his cheek the night before he leaves. It’s not a question.</p><p>“Yes,” Jaskier replies, turning and pressing a kiss to her trembling lips. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>He walks away without looking back.</p><p>A new song about a lovely druid, beautiful and kind, is added to his repertoire.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“But the story is this,” Jaskier croons, winking at the swooning barmaid, “She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss.”</p><p>He makes his way around, pausing in front of every woman in the tavern. He can’t tug on the heartstrings of the scowling men hoping to hear the rousing “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher,” but the maidens are quite willing to empty their coin purses for this heartwrenching ballad. Thankfully, it doesn’t hurt as much to sing nowadays.</p><p>“The story is this,” he continues, and almost chokes on his next words when he meets the gaze of a less-than-amused purple-eyed sorceress. He hastily strums the last line of the song before quickly collecting his coin. He almost makes it out of the tavern when, of course, Yennefer catches him.</p><p>“I hope that song isn’t about me,” she says with an arched eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe in front of him.</p><p>“Ah, Yennefer! Long time no see!” Jaskier chirps with feigned enthusiasm. “It’s been, hm, nearly a year since you stormed by me on that wretched mountain. We should form a guild, don’t you think? Comprised of everyone who’s been shouted at by Geralt of Rivia. You and I can lead.”</p><p>“You’re still as annoying as ever,” the sorceress drawls, then cocks her head. “And… alive and well.”</p><p>Jaskier squints at her. “Um, yes, I am. Sorry to disappoint.”</p><p>“I thought you were dead, Jaskier,” Yennefer says bluntly. “Geralt told me you were.”</p><p>Jaskier balks. “What— no! Yes, he tore my heart to pieces, but he didn’t actually kill me! What’s all this about?”</p><p>The sorceress shoots him a strange look. “He found your lute smashed to pieces and then heard you encountered a unicorn, which was the last thing we heard about you for months. It was like you dropped off the face of the Earth. I didn’t even expect to see you here.”</p><p>Jaskier sighs and gestures to a vacant table. “Shall we?”</p><p>Yennefer’s expression doesn’t change the entire time Jaskier talks. When he’s done, she leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “I didn’t think you could kill a drowner by yourself.”</p><p>“That’s all you have to say?” Jaskier huffs.</p><p>The corner of Yennefer’s lips tilt up in a hint of a smile. “What do you want me to say, then? That I’m proud of you?”</p><p>“Well.” Jaskier tosses his hair back. “Validation is appreciated. It was really difficult, I’ll have you know. Damned things are slimy as all hell. I smelled like bog water for a week.”</p><p>Yennefer lets out a short laugh. “Thank you for that detail. I’ll be sure to let Geralt know the next time I see him.”</p><p>The cocky smile slips off Jaskier’s face. He clears his throat and looks down at his hands. “Ah. Of course. You two are…”</p><p>“We are not,” Yennefer says firmly. “What he and I had was never real, Jaskier. We reconciled for the child and parted ways. I rarely see him these days.” </p><p>“Oh,” Jaskier replies. He scratches his neck. “Um. So. The Child Surprise. That’s… that happened.”</p><p>“Yes,” Yennefer says, amused. “I expect to see more of Ciri when she needs help refining her powers.” She suddenly sobers. “Jaskier. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“What for? Threatening me and trying to kill me? Now that I’m looking back, I can actually see where you’re coming from. No apologies needed, dear lady.”</p><p>Yennefer rolls her eyes. “I’m never going to apologize for that, but thank you anyway. I meant that I’m sorry for bringing up Geralt.”</p><p>“What for?” Jaskier repeats.</p><p>The sorceress shoots him a look that clearly says <em> Stop playing dumb. </em> “I’m ruthless, Jaskier, but I won’t be cruel to you. I wouldn’t have talked about him had I known you love him.”</p><p>Jaskier’s blood runs cold. “I— I don’t—”</p><p>This time, the look Yennefer gives him is sympathetic. Jaskier bows his head so she won’t see the panic in his eyes or hear the heaviness of his breath, how desperate and pitiful he is.</p><p>“Geralt hasn’t been the same without you,” Yennefer says, and graciously pretends not to see Jaskier hastily wiping away a tear. “When he thought you died… I’ve never seen him like that and I never want to see that again.” She searches Jaskier’s face, expression gentle. “He’ll be glad to know you’re alive.”</p><p>Jaskier scoffs. “I doubt it.”</p><p>“Of course he will.”</p><p>“He probably wants me dead,” Jaskier says, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth.</p><p>A thunderous look passes over Yennefer’s face. “Don’t test my patience,” she hisses. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see him. He was…” She closes her eyes. “He didn’t mean what he said to you on the mountain. He was angry at me, the situation— everything <em> but </em>you. You just came up to him at the wrong time. You shouldn’t poke an angry dragon, bard.”</p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind, but maybe the angry dragon could find me and apologize,” Jaskier says stiffly.</p><p>“Maybe the angry dragon would have already done so if he thought you were alive.”</p><p> “Ah, yes, I forgot about that bit,” Jaskier says with a wince.</p><p>“Hmm,” Yennefer intones, sounding so much like Geralt that Jaskier feels a pang in his chest. “Where are you headed?”</p><p>“Oxenfurt,” Jaskier says cheerily. “I’m a ‘wind in my hair, sea salt in the air’ kind of fellow. I’ll probably teach at the Academy for some steady coin and the guarantee of sleeping in a real bed.”</p><p>“Hmm,” the sorceress says again, tilting her head. She rises from the table and pulls her cloak tightly around her shoulders. “Safe travels, bard.”</p><p>“You as well!” Jaskier calls after her retreating figure. When the door closes behind her, he puts his head in his hands.</p><p>Dead. Geralt thinks he’s <em> dead. </em>Jaskier did stay with the druids for a while, but a few months was nothing compared to the sometimes years that Jaskier and Geralt would part ways before falling back together. He should’ve burned the lute completely before he left.</p><p>He rubs his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He’s never talked with Yennefer this long and this <em> civilly</em>. It was strange, seeing her look at him with such sympathy. He supposes that she, of all people, understands that Geralt could never love him back. If the Witcher had only been briefly enamoured by beautiful, powerful Yennefer, how could he possibly love Jaskier? Jaskier knows that he’s decently attractive and an exceptional musician (fuck you, Geralt, there <em> is </em> filling in this pie, and it’s decadent!), but he doesn’t have much going for him in terms of strength and, well, <em> usefulness</em>. He recalls all the times he screamed for Geralt to save him from every other creature they stumbled upon, and flinches at the memory of the Witcher’s curled lip and bared teeth, rough voice barking, <em> If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take </em> you <em> off my hands. </em></p><p>He accepts that he aggravated Geralt at the wrong time and the man only lashed out in anger, but there must have been a kernel of truth somewhere in those harsh words. He’s annoying, and abrasive, and he has nothing to offer. It’s a wonder that the Witcher put up with him for so long. Although there’s a possibility that Geralt likes him, Geralt will never <em> love </em>him. Not the way Jaskier loves him.</p><p>If the Witcher finds him and apologizes, Jaskier will forgive him with a smile, but move on. Gone are the days of floundering beside and aggravating the most capable man in the whole world. Jaskier can’t take another moment of singing to a raucous tavern of people, gazing at Geralt while the other man stonily looks away. He can’t take another endless night of tracing the Witcher’s sharp features with his eyes, longing burning through his entire body as the other man sleeps on, oblivious, uncaring, unfeeling. </p><p>Jaskier is tired; he’s weak, he’s wanting. It’s time to turn his eyes somewhere else. What good is it to always look but never have? </p><p>He thinks he’s ready to give up now.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier leaves the inn at dawn. While he knows that there’s no way Yennefer has already found and told Geralt where he is, he’s anxious all the same. </p><p>He stumbles by a large lake and groans when he hears a high-pitched cry for help. After a brief struggle and enduring several deep claw wounds, Jaskier manages to slit the throat of a werewolf attempting to drag a mermaid, of all things, out of the water. While the body burns, the mermaid teaches him an ancient song of her people. It’s haunting and beautiful. He doesn’t write anything down, but knows he will never forget it.</p><p>He treats his wounds by the side of the lake, stitching his skin together and wrapping his arms and legs with bandages soaked in ointment that the druids taught him to make. By the time he hobbles away, his blood has dried onto the rocks.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The faerie king asks Jaskier to be the official royal bard. When Jaskier politely declines, the king looks disappointed, but lets him go without dispute, saying that his talent is something that must always be shared. The bard leaves with a glass vial of shimmery purple liquid that smells of roses. He’s brave enough and foolish enough to drink it. The next time Jaskier looks in a mirror, the crow’s feet Yennefer once teased him for are gone, as well as the strands of white in his hair. He goes to sleep feeling simultaneously elated and grieved. He knows, inexplicably, that he will never age again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He’s already at the coast, perhaps a week’s journey from Oxenfurt. He catches fish for an injured selkie. The selkie gifts him with an iridescent pearl in the shape of a teardrop. Jaskier has it polished and drilled, then threaded with a thin silver chain to wear as a necklace. Its cool weight on his skin is calming.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A broad-shouldered man watches him intently from a table in the corner. Jaskier smirks and makes sure to put a little more sway in his hips than is strictly necessary. </p><p>They fuck in a room the man has rented for the night, Jaskier’s palms braced on the headboard as the stranger thrusts into him relentlessly. Jaskier closes his eyes and hates himself for pretending that it’s Geralt’s length inside of him, Geralt’s grunts low in his ear, and Geralt’s waist that his legs are wrapped around.</p><p>He bites his lip to stop himself from crying out the Witcher’s name.</p><p>When the man starts snoring, Jaskier gets up, cleans the mess dripping down his thighs, and goes to his own rented room. As soon as he closes the door, he props himself against the wall and cries.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The giant spider is unfortunately not a success story. It hears Jaskier creeping up behind it and lunges, sinking its fangs into his side. Its venom works fast. Jaskier lands face-first in the dirt, unable to move even a finger.</p><p><em> I literally drank immortality but I’m dying because I can’t kill a fucking spider</em>, he laments. The bite in his side pulses, each one more painful than the last. He hears a gruff “Stay back!” before a blade sings through the air and something falls to the ground with a wet thud.</p><p>A white-hot throb in his hip makes him gasp with the pain. Darkness seeps into the corners of his vision. He sees Geralt’s face hovering over him, fierce concern etched across his every feature.</p><p><em> Heaven is where Geralt cares for me, </em>he thinks deliriously, and everything goes black.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He wakes up slowly, as if wading through water. He groans and turns his head away from blinding sunlight. A young girl with blonde hair and serious eyes is sitting at his bedside, eyebrows furrowed.</p><p>“Yennefer?” she calls, not taking her gaze off of him. “Yennefer! He’s awake!”</p><p>The sorceress bursts through the door, cloak billowing behind her. She leans over the large bed and Jaskier valiantly does not stare at her cleavage.</p><p>“You gave us quite a scare, bard,” Yennefer says. She takes a vial from the table next to the bed and hands it to him. “Drink this. I tried to force it down your throat when we found you, but you just vomited it back up. You’re a lot more trouble than you’re worth, you know that?”</p><p>Jaskier downs the murky green liquid and gags. “Oh, gods. What the fuck was in that?”</p><p>“I don’t think you want to know,” the sorceress replies breezily. “But what I will tell you is that it will destroy the remainder of the venom in your system, as well as restore some of your energy. All that’s left for you to do now is rest.”</p><p>“But he just woke up,” the girl whines. “He already slept for three days.”</p><p>“Well, I’m sure if you keep me company, there’s no way I’ll fall asleep,” Jaskier says, slowly propping himself up against the wall. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss…?”</p><p>“Cirilla. But you can call me Ciri.”</p><p>“Ah,” Jaskier says. He suspected that this girl was the Child Surprise, but a <em> princess</em>? “It’s lovely to meet you, Your Highness.”</p><p>The girl’s face flushes. “Ciri. Just Ciri.”</p><p>“Ciri,” Jaskier confirms with a smile.</p><p>“I know you,” she says in a rush. “You— you played in our court once. I remember. Grandmother liked you. She—” Ciri looks down at her hands. “She wanted to hire you again. But then—”</p><p>“I know,” Jaskier says softly. “Thank you. I’m very honored. Your grandmother was a great woman.”</p><p>Ciri’s face crumples, but she takes in a shuddering breath and squares her shoulders. Yennefer drops a kiss on her head before leaving. It’s a motherly, familiar gesture that Jaskier would usually never associate with the sorceress.</p><p>“She’s teaching you to refine your powers, yes?” Jaskier asks, recalling Yennefer’s words from months ago.</p><p>“Yes,” Ciri sighs. “I’ve never had much control, so she has to help me.”</p><p>“You’re in good hands,” Jaskier says. “I wouldn’t be so discouraged.”</p><p>“I know, but it’s hard,” the princess says glumly. “I actually miss my old lessons, like literature and music. I wish I could play the lute like you. You’re really talented.”</p><p>“I can teach you, if you want.”</p><p>Ciri’s eyes shine. “Really?”</p><p>“One is more than enough,” comes a gravelly voice from the door, and Jaskier’s stomach plummets as he turns towards the sound. Of course, it’s Geralt, leaning against the doorframe, looking beautiful and dangerous as usual. Jaskier never knows if what he feels for the Witcher half the time is arousal or fear. Perhaps a mix of both?</p><p>“It really was you,” he says, mostly to himself. “I didn’t hallucinate you saving me.”</p><p>Geralt’s lips twitch. He puts a hand on Ciri’s shoulder, and when the girl looks up at him, he inclines his head towards the door. She springs up from the chair and leaves the room with a cheeky grin in his direction. </p><p><em> What’s that about?, </em> Jaskier wonders.</p><p>Geralt carefully sits down in the vacated chair. It’s completely silent save for the whispering of the breeze through the window, the pale blue curtains swelling with its force. Jaskier can smell the sea salt in the air. They must be in Oxenfurt.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks, surprised. He didn’t expect Geralt to get straight to it.</p><p>“I was angry,” Geralt continues, his golden gaze heavy. It feels like a dream to see him again after the past year and a half of running. “What I said was cruel. I didn’t mean—” He frowns. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Uh,” Jaskier says eloquently. “Well! Uh.” He clears his throat and musters a smile. “I accept your apology, Geralt. And thank you for saving me. I definitely would’ve died if you hadn’t shown up when you did. How’d you manage to do that, by the way?”</p><p>Geralt looks away. “I was… headed to Oxenfurt. Found you at the right time.”</p><p>“Huh,” Jaskier says. “I am so glad I nearly got gored for that leprechaun.”</p><p>The Witcher furrows his eyebrows. “That was true, then?”</p><p>“The leprechaun? They exist, yes. Never thought I'd meet a creature more cowardly than I am, but you learn new things every day.”</p><p>“No, Jaskier. The goring.”</p><p>“You mean the unicorn? Yeah, it— oh. <em>Oh</em>,” Jaskier says, and swallows around the guilty lump in his throat.<em> I thought you were dead, Jaskier. Geralt told me you were. </em>“I wasn't gored! It was close, since I’m not virginal or pleasant company to be around, but I climbed up a tree with a leprechaun and just waited it out. The leprechaun sends some luck my way once in a while. Comes in handy, evidently.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt says. He hesitates. “Your company isn’t… unpleasant.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Jaskier says drily. “With a review like that, it’s a wonder that I don’t have a band of admirers following me around.”</p><p>“Jaskier.” Geralt’s fingers twitch in his lap. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. It wasn’t a blessing. That you were out of my life.”</p><p>“I accepted your apology, Geralt. You don’t have to spout lies to make me feel better.”</p><p>“I’m not,” Geralt says. “You’re— <em> important. </em> To me.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jaskier says slowly. “You’re also important to me.”</p><p>Geralt closes his eyes. “I’m not doing this right.”</p><p>“What? <em> Um</em>,” Jaskier says, eyes widening when the Witcher cups his cheek with one large palm. “You— what are you—”</p><p>“Jaskier.” </p><p>The bard clamps his mouth shut, heart rabbiting in his chest. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, and he tells himself not to, but Geralt is looking at him, really <em> looking </em> at him, as if he actually likes what he sees. </p><p>Geralt leans forward and gently presses his lips against Jaskier’s. It’s barely a kiss; more like a touching of lips, but Jaskier lets out a wounded noise that he doesn’t recognize as his own voice and surges up against Geralt, wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck and ignoring the strain in his side.</p><p><em> Please let this be real, </em> Jaskier thinks desperately as their mouths move together clumsily at first, then ravenously. <em> Please please please. </em></p><p>Geralt’s hands slide from Jaskier’s face to his neck to his waist, wondering and hungry. Jaskier chokes out a moan when Geralt’s hand brushes against his inner thigh. The Witcher immediately pulls back.</p><p>“No, why,” Jaskier whines, chasing the other man’s mouth.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs. “Did I hurt you?”</p><p>“What— no, you big oaf! Surely you’ve had enough experience by now to distinguish pleasure from pain?” Jaskier winces as his wounds give a dull throb. “Okay, on second thought, maybe it would be best if we stopped. Curse you for kissing me while I still have venom in my hip.”</p><p>Geralt huffs a short laugh and kisses the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. “Hmm,” he says, and carefully lays Jaskier back down on the bed.</p><p>Jaskier looks up at him, not bothering to conceal the anxiety in his eyes. “Just to be clear, this means something to you, right? You’re— <em> fond </em> of me, right? Because if you’re not, I’ll write another song about you that will absolutely destroy your reputation. Geralt of Rivia, breaker of hearts and— stealer of— of tarts, and all that.”</p><p>“Jaskier.” Geralt’s thumb strokes his cheekbone, and Jaskier does his very best not to melt. “What you feel for me, I feel the same for you.”</p><p>“Oh,” Jaskier says, knowing that the skin underneath Geralt’s thumb is turning bright red. “That’s— that’s good.”</p><p>“Quite.” Geralt lets out a chuckle. “Stealer of tarts? Is that the best you could come up with?”</p><p>“Excuse me,” Jaskier squawks indignantly, “How about <em> you </em> try to think of a perfect rhyme after getting kissed senseless by a very seductive, very terrifying man? Hey! Geralt! Stop laughing at me!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier is soon able to walk around without having to pause every other step to catch his breath, and Yennefer no longer forces disgusting potions down his throat. </p><p>“I do actually want to know what’s in it,” Jaskier says, poking at the vial and watching the green liquid inside roil and bubble.</p><p>“No, you don’t,” the sorceress replies. She stows it in a small case, which she then packs into a leather satchel. </p><p>Jaskier frowns. “You're not leaving, are you?”</p><p>Yennefer purses her lips. “There are far too many people in Oxenfurt. There’s no way for Ciri to learn how to control her magic here without the entire city finding out. We’re going somewhere more secluded.”</p><p>“Oh.” It’s only been a few days, but Jaskier was really starting to enjoy Yennefer’s company. Ciri is a delight, and Geralt, of course… “I’m not going with you, am I.”</p><p>Yennefer shakes her head. “You’ll just be in the way, bard,” she says, not unkindly. “Unlike Geralt, we don’t need musical accompaniment for our every action.”</p><p>“You don’t <em> need </em> it, but if you <em> want </em> it—”</p><p>“We don’t,” Yennefer cheerily says. “You told me that you were heading to Oxenfurt and now you’re trying to leave as soon as you get here? Just stay, Jaskier. I’m sure Geralt will love nursing you back to full health while listening to all your insipid songs.”</p><p>“Rude,” Jaskier sniffs, then pauses. “Geralt’s not going with you?”</p><p>“He’ll also just be in the way,” Yennefer says. She smiles. “Geralt was very eager to get to the coast when I told him you were on your way to Oxenfurt. It seems that your Witcher is also a ‘wind in my hair, sea salt in the air’ kind of fellow.”</p><p>“Huh,” Jaskier says faintly.</p><p>Yennefer and Ciri leave that night, thinking that if anyone were to track them, the darkness would shield them. Ciri brightens when Jaskier promises to give her lute lessons when she comes back, and waves goodbye before following Yennefer into the night.</p><p>“You didn’t want to go with?”</p><p>Geralt shakes his head.</p><p>“You’re really fine with staying in Oxenfurt?”</p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt says. He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, sheepish. “While you were gone, I was… reckless. I took on a lot of jobs. So I have enough coin to last me a while before I have to start traveling again.”</p><p>“Yennefer said you were eager to come here when you found out that I was on my way,” Jaskier says, because he’s cruel and curious to see what Geralt says.</p><p>The Witcher clears his throat. “The coast is nice. You were right. Maybe it would be good to— get away. For a while.”</p><p>Jaskier can’t help his silly grin. “You’re <em> fond </em> of me,” he says gleefully, pointing an accusing finger at Geralt. “You’re actually fond of me!”</p><p>Geralt rolls his eyes and sweeps Jaskier into his arms, depositing the shrieking bard onto the bed. “Yes, I am.”</p><p>Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows. “Oh, dear Witcher, if you wanted the night to go in this direction, you only needed to ask.”</p><p>“You’re still injured. You have to sleep.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt says sternly. “Sleep.”</p><p>Jaskier heaves a dramatic sigh as Geralt settles beside him and drapes a sturdy arm over his waist. “As soon as I’m fully healed, I want you to ravish me against every corner of this room. I don’t care that it’s rented and not ours to demolish. Every corner, you hear me?”</p><p>Geralt’s arm tightens around him. “Hmm.”</p><p>Jaskier yawns, already drowsy. Giant spider bites really do take a lot out of you. “I think I’ve worked out what pleases me,” he mumbles. “You and me together, Geralt. Doesn’t matter if we’re at the coast. Anywhere, as long as it's with you.”</p><p>Geralt presses a soft kiss to the back of his neck. “Sleep, Jaskier.”</p><p>And Jaskier does.</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my friend: i think you made yennefer too nice<br/>me: but she gets in some good roasts and that's all that matters to me</p><p>i love how jaskier is a whirlwind disaster and geralt is literally a slab of granite lol ANYWAY thank you so much for reading! please let me know if there are any errors and i'll try to fix 'em up asap! also, while i don't reply to all comments, please know that i read every single one and i'm so so thankful for them ㅠㅠ</p></blockquote></div></div>
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